Primal Pleasure of PaintGerburg Garmann
They
left the house a bit early
cradling
their old Singapura.
She
carried five brushes,
he
some jars of primal paints.
They
set the cat on a nearby bolder,
enhanced
her immense ears
with
yellow and red streaks,
wreathed
a blue garland around
her belly and back and left
the
black and white for the tail
as
well as for a few spots all over.
Her
eyes, already graced
with
emblazoning greens, seemed
to
revel in the primal pleasure of paint
before
scratching their hands
with
fierce and reliable intentness
that
perfectly mirrored
the
red of her own dolled up ears.

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